Analytical Entanglement
by Kashii Ai
Summary: Opal Koboi has won; the world has descended into an interspecies war, and the Holocaust of Fairies has begun. Through filtered eyes of Artemis Fowl and Holly Short, the war tears apart and brings together, lead by Opal. Told through drabbles. ArtyxHolly.
1. Painting Rules

**Disclaimer:** All original Artemis Fowl characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2001 by Eoin Colfer. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Artemis Fowl series.

_Analytical Entanglement_ Story copyright (c) 2010 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

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**A/N: **Hallo. This is my first ever AF fanfic. Will be a series and be updated when I feel like it or have time. XD

Please be merciful. My Artemis muse is still developing, and I have yet to RP with someone who has a well-developed muse. So yes. I will probably also make him flail and put him through hell. Because you know Holly would. :P

Enjoy~!

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**Chapter 1:**** Painting Rules**

_"I never meant for you to feel this way. / Decembers were never meant to be our graves. / It's not a question of who was wrong / and what is right. / But time cannot heal / what you will never recognize_

_"'Cause all of this is all that I can take, / and you could never understand the demons that I faced. / So go ahead and bat your eyes / and lie right to the world. / For everything you are/ is just a little girl."_

_Just a Little Girl_, by Trading Yesterday

**Stretched**

It's somewhere among the thrill of escape and the strain of survival that they both realize it. It stretches between them, a long tension that vibrates with what's suppressed and unsaid, and it's here that that their hearts inevitably land. As the days pass, and the evils whittle away, they learn how to breathe again with this new paradigm.

Artemis resigns himself—he was never normal to begin with, anyway.

Holly pretends she can't see the string that stretches between their hands.

It's best not to touch something so delicate, like crystal.

Artemis would, and he'd make sure to shatter it.

**Apprehend**

He pretends not to notice the sudden distance she puts between. Where they used to talk often, she barely carries on a conversation. Her emails are short and clipped—she displays no desire to tell him what's transpired in her life of late. He tries to—_wants_ to—pull her back.

The last thing he wants is to lose his best friend.

**Hold**

"Holly!" He reaches, grasps a bony arm, pulls back.

She struggles stubbornly, and he tries to avoid the kicks to his shins, "Artemis! Stop! Let me go!"

"No." He narrows ocean-and-earth eyes, and allows his gaze to drill into hers, "Why do you hesitate? Why is it that you are afraid of this?"

She breathes hard, trying to avoid his sharp gaze, "I'm not afraid. You know it's not right. It's not normal!"

His lips part, and he tilts his head, narrow features furrowing in thought, "What is normal?"

She scoffs, "_This_! This is not normal! You're mad, Fowl."

He pulls on her. She struggles but, it doesn't stop his large arms from wrapping firmly around her. She's engulfed—drowned in sweet cologne and pale skin and _him_. She can't help but stop clawing, because her head is pressed to his chest, and the steady, strong _tha-thump, tha-thump_ of his human, ninety-year heartbeat presses into her ear. This is the reason why. She can't possibly ask him to expand his lifespan, even if she knows he'd find a way—or bust, they'd never leave each other. She's rather reject him than watch him suffer outliving his family and human friends, or seeing him age at a rate that far exceeds her own.

She hates the hold she has over him.

"Please don't make me do this."

"I _want_ to."

"And that's why you're mad."

"I can't help myself. I love you too much."

"Idiot."

**Brink**

It all happens so slow. One minute, he's helping Butler shoot down the troll—and he's being slashed open an eternity later. She's running through syrup, just to get to him, and it's all she can do just to keep herself in control. What is it about this human that steps on her heart so? Why is it that she can't seem to stop those eyes or that voice from getting under her skin?

She realizes he's not breathing, so she smashes her lips to his. She would bring him back from the far side of death.

Even if it means regrets later.

**Shuffle**

Her feelings clunk together at the hospital. They bump into each other, apologize, and move on. Guilt for being unjuiced eats away at her stomach, and she pulls her sunhat lower over her face. She doesn't want to look at Butler, nor Juliet. All this stupidity had been her fault. If she had just performed the ritual before arriving on the estate . . .

The call for Master Fowl's visitors arrives at last. The hallway is impossibly long, and she shivers from the cold of the sterile place. She goes first. His room is white and plain, like the rest of the hospital., and he's just a shock of black hair and pale, withdrawn unconsciousness. She can't get over how small he looks in the bed, despite his sixteen years. She takes his hand, observing the way it dwarfs hers, and traces the bones and tendons.

"I'm the mad one, aren't I? I think maybe I forgot how precious you are."

His hand suddenly shifts, and his large eyes blink open. She bites her lip; guilty, apprehensive, in love.

He smiles, squeezes her hand.

"Glad you see my logic."

**First**

She shuffles over to the door of her small apartment, and answers it. She can't help but smile as the mud boy ducks through her doorway, and folds his tallness down to exist under the roof. She spins a revolution, showing off the deep red sundress she saved for special occasions, "What do you think?"

He smiles, "You look lovely."

She blushes, and kisses him on the cheek, "Let's go."

"Right. Have you ever been to the most expensive restaurant in Haven?"

"No . . .?"

"Good."

**Eternity**

They see the fairy version of _Les Miserables_. As the musical progresses, and she watches him delight in the acting, the singing, the story, she tries not to see the ghosts of what could have been. She knows how much he's giving up to be with her. He'd told her he had found a way for his lifespan to match hers—an ethical way. She is proud of him for sticking to what is right, even if the other ways may have been easier.

But still.

She's not sure she can live with herself if he ends up unhappy.

She's pensive even after the play, and he notes her quiet, "What's wrong?"

"I'm just . . . do you really want to do this?"

"I am here, are I not?"

"Yes . . ."

"Holly . . ." he sighs, runs a hand through jet-black hair, "I don't know why you even chose me."

"Wh—what?"

"After all I've done. To the fairy world; to you. Why?"

She shrugs, rolls the answer around her mouth, lets the words drop, "I dunno. You're just different. No one else comes close, of all the people I've dated . . ."

" . . . have you ever been in love before me?"

"Yes. Once."

"I see."

"He dumped me after he moved away . . . there was another girl there."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugs, "It's not that bad. It was in high school. Long time ago."

Artemis dips down, so his face is level with hers, and his lips brush against hers, "I hope I'm never 'long time ago'."

**Saturate**

She loves to watch his hand, wandering over paper as it renders something out of thin air. His hand is soaked in color—a million Prismacolor pastels—as he paints and shades and nudges. His hand is long and slender, and it guides the light and shadow deftly as he draws. She leans on his shoulder and watches as the art piece is brought into existence. He soaks himself in drawing, for once releasing control over his emotions as he moves organically. Nothing could render quite like the human or fairy hand.

It's an image she rarely sees, and so she holds it close. She pulls it out sometimes in the LEP, or on nights where they can't be together. It never fails to make her smile. She then thinks of how different they are—human and fairy, but in love nonetheless. Two beings that aren't supposed to even have interest—like that ever stopped them.

Here, in this place, they would paint their own rules.

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**A/N:** So yeah. That's the first installment of _Analytical Entanglement_. The next one will probably be Christmas-themed. BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE GETTING ARTY DRUNK OFF EGGNOG. XD

God, the mental images . . . .

**_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


	2. Christmas Antithesis 100 Percent

**Disclaimer:** All original Artemis Fowl characters, story, and affiliated media are copyright (c) 2001 by Eoin Colfer. Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies in no way own the Artemis Fowl series.

_Analytical Entanglement_ Story copyright (c) 2010 by Kashii Ai, Cassie Drey, and any associated names/companies

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**A/N:** I upped the rating to M. If you'd like to read a cut version of this story, you can find it on my deviantART profile, a link to which you can find on my FFN profile.

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**Chapter 2:**** Christmas Antithesis 100%**

_"I can finally see / that you're right there beside me._

_"I am not my own / for I have been made new. / Please don't let me go, / I desperately need you!_

_"I am not my own, / for I have been made new. / Please don't let me go, / I desperately need you!"_

_Meteor Shower_, by Owl City_  
_

**Blood**

She keeps careful vigil over him, hazel and blue eyes watching him with militaristic rapture. She knows doctors are monitoring, but she'll take no risks. He had signed on to a private hospital, and it was here that his lifespan would come to match hers. He and Foaly had done extensive research, and they determined the longevity and magic of a fairy lies in many different things, including the blood. Artemis was also pleased to find that fairies and humans possessed the same blood type—thus, here he was, replacing his entire supply of human blood with fairy.

He breathes on a respirator, the soft rise-and-fall sigh of wind whispering against the staccato, pertinent sounds of the hospital. The drip of fairy blood is steady, as his human blood is drained, sucking out, flowing in, the _click-clack-shmook_ of the machines amplified in the small room. He's lost in the haze of dreams and unreality, soft, black, spider-leg lashes flickering in REM sleep. She watches the pink flush of his lips and cheeks, the rise and fall of his chest. She knows this is highly dangerous. She tries not to hate that he's doing it for her. He _loves_ her enough to do this; she should appreciate it.

She allows her fingers to stroke back his fringe, enthralled by the ink-spun fibers. His hair is like feathers. It's a thought she's had a million times—black raven feathers, like the soft fluttering of wings and flight and midnight. It contrasts sharply with his glacial skin, and she runs her finger over a flawlessly porcelain cheek, marveling. He shifts, her touch finding its way through the drugs, and his head tilts to lean into her hand. She smiles and lays her head on his pillow, fascinated by the flickering of his lids.

The blood drops.

The boy breathes.

Holly watches.

**Connect**

She's on Kraken Watch again, watching the bright blue of the Atlantic ocean fall away under her, and tries her best not to think of sapphire and earth. The horizon swings and rotates as she flies acrobatically, enjoying the breeze, watching ocean turn to sky and back again. The earth is whipping up a breeze, and she can see a storm on the horizon, all tangled gray clouds and glowing lightning. She can hear the distant rumble of thunder, smell the ashy scent of ozone.

"You better hurry it up." It's Foaly's voice in her ear.

"I am. I'm almost there."

"Right. You're staying at Fowl Manor for Yule, right?"

Holly resists the urge to roll her eyes at his conversational tone, "Yes, Foaly. I am. Except they celebrate Christmas."

"Weirdest Mud Man holiday ever."

"I don't think it's so bad to believe in something."

"You seem to be distracting Artemis from his pure, Catholic ways."

Holly flushes, "I don't know what you're talking about! It's not like he was pure in the first place!"

"Have you been taking contraceptives?"

Holly allows the silence to stretch, and hopes that maybe Foaly will drop the subject. What she does with Artemis is none of his business.

"Well?"

"Gods, Foaly, yes! I've been taking all the right herbs! Stop nosing into my love life!"

"Hey. There's no guarantee you two can't reproduce; you know magic does weird things. And he's only sixteen."

"He's nineteen based on his birth certificate. And sixteen is the age of consent in Ireland."

"Still. He's so young . . ."

Holly snorts, "And so am I."

She makes it to the kraken before Foaly can shoot a witty comeback. She goes through the standard checks, rushing against the incoming storm, but her mind is an eternity away, back in Ireland. Her mind is full of laughter and touch and taste, intoxicated by the human boy. She sees blue or black or a designer suit, and he's suddenly next to her, five foot five of confident presence, assuring voice, lilting accent.

She loves to watch him—working, talking, drawing, asleep. He's a slow, sweet dreamer, and he talks in his slumber. There are nights where she watches the rise and fall of his chest, the flutter of his eyes, the fall of his hair. She wonders; what are the chances? The sheer coincidence of the only boy who could ever understand, exploit, befriend the fairy race living over their largest center of populace. Logicians might say it's just a matter of statistics, but really, it's something deeper; fate, destiny, meant-to-be kind of chances.

She watches, she wonders, how a fairy like her could have anchored a lost little boy home.

**Retail**

Artemis stares with great intent at the department store directory, trying to determine where in the hell the women's apparel section was. He doesn't understand why Holly had to drag him _here_ of all places, Macy's hardly qualified as a designer store. Not that it really mattered, clothes were clothes. This place is just so _huge_. She's dashed off into the Juniors section, rifling through the petites. He hadn't quite known what he'd get himself into until they arrived and she had dashed off to the nearest jewelry display.

"Arty! What do you think of this?"

He looks up to see her holding up a red dress—it's sleek and shimmery, all danger-and-elegance. He shrugs noncommittally, not sure what to say. She scowls at him, and throws the dress over her arm. He wonders if she remembers that they're here for his family and the Butlers. He never should have handed over his credit card. This is disaster-bound, he's sure. Amazing how a female can cause one's finances to crash into an instant and irrevocable nosedive.

Apparently she's finished sifting the Juniors section, because she walks over and grabs his hand. He's dragged to the fitting room, and told to wait outside. What could he have done to deserve this torture? He poured her coffee this morning. He complimented her hair. He opened doors for her and helped her into the car. Clearly, he had done nothing wrong, thus he deserves no punishment. She emerges a minute or two later, and he opens his mouth to express his concern.

He's promptly distracted.

He blinks. He rubs his eyes. Nope, the goddess standing before him really is his stubborn LEP elf. She carries herself with a straight fighter's posture, and smiles at his silence. The red dress hugs her, showing every lovely curve, dip, and teasing shape. He knows what it all looks like, but the red color makes her radiant—her eyes are somehow more intense, her skin seems more rosy-and-cinnamon than usual, her hair is the color of blood. He blinks again, and realizes he had never thought of Holly as sophisticated. She was normally dressed down when in street clothes, or in her LEP suit.

"So? Do you like it?"

"Uh . . ."

"Is the genius hardput for words?"

"Pretty much . . ."

"Good~"

"Holly . . . you're wearing a dress."

" . . . yes?"

"You better not tell anyone about my reaction. I'll never live it down."

**Metal**

Holly leans against the glass, watching cars and buildings and worlds pass by, as they drive on the highway. Artemis's parents had gotten him a car for his sixteenth birthday—the irony of the American cliché had made him laugh. Since he's legally over eighteen, he was able to get his license the summer before he turned sixteen. It's a Toyota FT-HS hybrid—it's like him; sleek, fast, blue, soothing.

He pulls through an exit, and they attach to a different highway. He speeds up, and all is typical. He checks his mirrors, his blindspot. He pulls the wheel to change lanes and re-checks his blind spot. Someone has appeared there, so he pulls the car back into its own lane—too hard. The car jerks and swerves. The two young people sway, and Artemis clings to the wheel and tries to compensate again. His heart has suddenly accelerated, and he can feel butterflies roiling his stomach. He's lost control of the car, lost control, lost control, lost control.

They spin three revolutions before they crash headlong into the highway divider. Their necks and bodies whip and throw, and the car settles its movement. Artemis stares at his hands, which had automatically tucked in over his face, to protect himself. Both the airbags had gone off.

"Oh . . . Oh, God. Holly? Are you okay? H—Holly?"

"I'm okay." She takes deep breaths, "Are you hurt?"

"N—no . . . I don't think so. Oh . . . God."

"We have to get out, the back is still in the lane. C'mon."

"My door won't open." His voice is thinner than normal, reedy with anxiety.

"Calm down, I'll get it."

She moves to get out, but a car has already pulled off beside them. A man and a woman emerge from the Sedan, and Artemis's door is pulled open. He's helped out by the man, while the woman goes around and helps out Holly, who discovers that her knee is in bad pain—probably bruised, as she can walk on it just fine. She finds her boyfriend staring in horror at his car's very crunched-in hood. It smells like sulfur and metal—there's some sort of black substance leaking from the hybrid. Its front is a crushed tangle of metal, wire, plastic and rubber parts. Artemis stares into the forest of it, and decides the car is probably totaled.

"Ooohhh, my parents are going to kill me!"

"Arty, calm down! You're okay, I'm okay! It's just a car!"

"But they bought it for me!"

"Have you called the police yet, son?" The man asked.

"N—no . . ."

The man nods, and pulls out his cell phone. Artemis looks too lost to do anything, so Holly calls Fowl Manor for him and hands him the phone. He stares at it for a moment, before he puts it to his ear, slender hand shaking, "Mum . . ."

"Arty? Are you alright?"

"W—we got in a car accident . . ."

"Are you okay? Is Holly?"

"Y—yes, we're fine, aside from some bruises."

"Good, good . . . are the police there yet?"

"Not yet. A man and woman stopped to help us, and he's calling them."

"Alright. Good. How far away from home are you? Do you need me to come pick you up?"

"Y—yes . . . I think so . . . I'm so sorryyy! You got that car for me, and—"

"Calm down, dearest. A car is replaceable, you and Holly are not."

"Yes, Mum."

"I'm glad you're both okay. What about the gifts?"

"I don't know. They should be fine—we didn't have anything electronic."

"Alright. How bad is the car?"

"Eehh . . ." His stomach squirms with guilt, "It's totaled."

"Well. We'll just have to buy you a new one, then."

"But—"

"No buts. It's not your fault."

He sighs, "Yes, Mum."

**Eggnog**

They say a drunk person talks a lot and speaks the truth. A drunk Artemis giggles, and says nonexistent words, and giggles and gurgles some more. She's going to _kill_ Juliet. _Kill_. Slowly and violently, with a paring knife and her pencil. This is all the stupid girl's fault, for spiking his drink. He giggles and murmurs something about the lights, and decides to flop his full weight against her. She sighs, and pushes on him, trying to make him sit up in his own chair.

"Please don't do that."

"Whyyyyy?"

"Because. I said so."

"Doesn't coo-oouunt . . ."

Holly resists the urge to slap him and wonders how long it'll be before he's sober, "Yes it does."

"Nooo."

"Gods, you're an annoying drunk."

"Thank you~"

Holly headdesks as he starts singing _Phantom of the Opera_ at the top of his lungs. She groans and wills herself to not exist. It doesn't work.

"You're pretty~"

"Shut up."

"But you aaare~"

"Why can't you pass out already?"

"No."

'"Or shut your mouth for one second."

"No."

Holly hopes to Frond he has a dreadful hangover the next day. At least they were at home, so there was no reason to worry about transportation. Angeline would not be pleased to find her son slammered after one tall glass of supposed alcohol-free beverage. Still, he deserves a dreadfully spectacular hangover for being twice as annoying as Orion _and_ himself while sober. She briefly considers what a drunk Orion would be like, and promptly shudders and promises herself to never think such things again.

"Craaaaawliiing in my skiiiin, these wooounds they will not heee-eeeaaal~"

"How do you even _know _that song?"

"I have no idea . . ." He hiccups and lays his head on her shoulder.

"_Artemis_."

"Yes?"

"Keep your hands to yourself."

"Aww, why?"

"STOP GROPING ME!"

"No fun."

And he giggles again.

**Delicate**

Later, when he passes out, she's enraptured and worried and frustrated. Even drunk and unconscious, he looks endearing. His skin is sallow rather than pale, ghostly and wispy, except for his fiery red cheeks. His hair worries her, with the way it's so dark against his skin, and she checks his temperature as she puts him to bed. He looks like a doll, delicate and pale and vulnerable. She fumes and berates him and loves him as she tucks him in, and promises herself that next time, she'll watch his drink more closely.

She's a sucker for fragile boys that need to be taken care of. Damn him.

**Headache**

The next morning, his hangover heaves itself onto his shoulders and sits there like a sack of wet cement. She congratulates him with black coffee and macaroni.

**Eternal**

She's russet red and cinnamon and tawny, golden skin and soft, high first soprano. She doesn't need a _mesmer_ to hypnotize him; she is enough. Every time they make love, he wants to highlight it, memorize, capture in his mind. Surely, this kind of bliss isn't allowed him. Something has to go wrong, and he finds himself looking over his shoulder; in the garden, inside the house, at business events. He feels like the shadows are coming for him, that if he looks hard enough, he'll discover the bad thing, whatever it is. Bones and ashes and sorrow.

"My mother once told me." They're laying in bed together, and her voice is soft against his ear, and he closes his eyes and reminds himself that this, _this_ right here, is life, "You only find forever love once in your life, and only if you're lucky." No bones. No ashes. No sorrow.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Inhale her.

Exhale her.

He can't lose what he breathes.

**Sugar**

For the sake of his college survival, she's taken it upon herself to teach him to cook. She's making him help with the Christmas baking, thus they're both in the kitchen, looking over a recipe Mrs. Fowl had outlined for her son's benefit. He had recently become vegan, for Holly's sake. Thus far, he was getting enough protein, but doctors were closely monitoring his health, just in case. He would be undergoing several surgeries after Christmas break, to help extend his lifespan. He's both excited and nervous, a young boy staring into the whole eternity ahead of him.

"Okay, so. We need milk, sugar, margarine . . ."

He nods, and begins to pull out the ingredients. She sits on the counter and waits, dressed casually in a green Christmas sweaterdress and stockings, to keep her feet warm. Artemis stares at her from between cabinets and bowls, and tries his best to focus on nothing but baking. She stands as he brings supplies over, and begins instructing him. _Pour this, not too much, add this in small amounts, that's the salt, not the sugar, make sure you don't burn yourself._

He's contentedly watching the cookies rise, when something soft and grainy collides with the back of his head. He turns, "What . . .?"

Holly has ducked behind the large sack of flour. He reaches into his hair, and draws out fine white powder. He stares, and licks it off his finger. It's chalky and thick, and turns his mouth to cotton. He shakes the white substance out of his hair.

"Why are you throwing flour at—" PLOP. This time it hits him full in the face.

"Oh, it's payback time." He scoops a large handful of sugar from the nearest bag and lobs it over the flour. He hears her squeal and giggle.

"Now it's war!"

"War?"

He ducks as flour missiles are flung with great accuracy at his head, and tries his best to find a barrier. He's too large a target, and ends up crouching in a corner of the counter, the bag of sugar in his lap for retaliations. Holly eventually chocks up the guts to run along the counter and dump an armful of flour on his head. He yells and grabs her, and stuffs some sugar down her dress before she can run away. She squeals again, and yells at him.

"That's gonna ruin it!"

He laughs, "All is fair in love and war."

She glares, and rolls her eyes. He allows himself a smile that's all vampire, and leans in and kisses her. She tastes incredibly sweet, and he slithers his tongue over her skin, moving from her lips to her neck. She giggles. They're the only two in the house—Angeline, Juliet and the twins are shopping, and Butler had accompanied Artemis Senior to a questionable meeting—it was likely to involve hostiles. Some people didn't take kindly to proper ethics.

He draws back, and kisses her on the forehead, "You're covered in sugar."

"And you look like a ghost."

"Whooo, boo!"

"Oh, I'm so scared, the ghost is gonna—ah!"

She arches her back as he tastes her skin once again, exploring the curves of her collarbone. He smiles, and his hands slide up and down her waist, reinforcing the memory of her curves in his hands. She's so little compared to him. He's always careful, taking care not to hurt or crush her. She nuzzles his neck, and laps delicately at the flour. He shivers and moans softly. She smiles against his skin, and they both draw back.

Slowly, he unzips her dress.

**Vivid**

He reveals her skin slowly, peeling back green to discover flawless mocha. He loves this process, of beginning slow, and accelerating. He loves to watch her squirm and glare, impatience illustrated across her face as he slowly undresses her. He waits until she's stripped to even kiss her, and he does so slowly, his hands fluttering over her cheeks lightly. She squeals and wriggles against him, and he relents, gently weighing her breasts in his hands.

She arches her back, pressing into him for more. Artemis emits a negative sound, and skillfully pins her arms and legs with his. She protests and fumes, but his kisses and touch melt her. He squeezes first one breast, then the other, and teases her nipples. She moans and wriggles, kissing him back. He's pleased to find that sugar has attached itself to her chest, and he moves down, slowly, painfully, lazily. He sucks up the sweet sugar, enjoying the sweet taste of sugar and elf skin. He growls possessively and sucks on one of her breasts.

She wastes no time being reduced to a pile of groaning, wiggly mush. He still has her pinned, his human bulk outweighing her strength. His tongue swirls slowly over her nipple, his hips already pressing into hers, up between her legs. She gasps, breath shuddering, and moans his name. His face splits into a satisfied smile, and he at last pulls away from her breast, "Want more?"

She nods.

He smiles, and draws back, to slip out of his own clothes. She watches and waits eagerly, until he draws closer again. He sits back against the cabinets, to support himself. Holly crawls up, and straddles him. She leans in and kisses him hard, he groans, hands, lips, tongue, moving everywhere they can reach, feel, taste. She's beautiful. He loves how perfect her body fits into his, leaning snugly against his chest, so little in his arms. She's soft and warm and _alive_.

She slides him inside her, and he hisses and slams her down on him, hard, unable to have any self-control at this point. She moans, too, and melds into him as he rubs against her insides, plunging deep and firm. He doesn't go too fast, taking care not to hurt her, and she loves the slow, lazy movement, the way their flesh slides hotly together. She's jelly in his arms, and buries her face in his neck. She comes hard, yelling his name, and he follows right after with a sharp gasp.

She giggles and kisses his neck, and he nuzzles her hair, both reveling in the afterglow. He rests his forehead against hers, and blinks at his own eye.

"I love you. More than life."

"I love you, too. Always."

**Flipside**

He loves being coiled against her, the way her hands follow the maze of his back, the vastness of the kitchen over their twined bodies. The top half of the wall in the West is constructed from glass, and the watercolors of the sunset flood the room, painting the small universe of Fowl Manor kitchen red and blue and purple and orange. His own body is suddenly many colors, their boldness making a perfect canvas out of his alabaster skin.

Everything is perfect.

Until Holly's communicator rings.

She opens it, and Foaly is on the other end. She carefully keeps it trained on just her face.

"What's going on?"

"Ah . . ." The centaur wrings his hands, "We have a problem."

Artemis reminds himself he needs to breathe. Bones, ashes, sorrow. He pulls Holly closer, wills things to be alright and perfect. There was nothing that could go wrong, not now, not since everything is perfect. He is cured, Holly is all his, the fairy world is at peace. He knows who it is right away. She had been biding her time, always, watching, waiting, planning. Watch the coin flip, see chance spin, they are just pawns of the world.

"What is it?" Holly's voice is all steel.

"You're not gonna like it."

He counts to four for luck.

One, things will be okay.

Two, he can't lose her.

Three, this was coming anyway.

Four, they'll do it again.

Their world turns over, earth becomes their sky, fate laughs at their plans, Artemis feels he deserves to be punished once again. It all leads here.

"Opal Koboi has escaped."

**Even**

They watch the news, they listen to the LEP, they wait. Opal would show herself in time, and they weren't going to bother with spending the LEP to find an impossible trail that's not necessarily going to be there. For now, best to bide, and hope for the best.

Artemis knows Holly spots the chaos in him right away, knows he can't stop. He draws the parallel between himself and Koboi, tracing paths and weaving webs, connecting the dots. It's too alike to be another coincidence, and he wonders what cruel God could possibly create a darker reflection of him, to mock, to relate, to force him to watch his own identity. He knows it's not Atlantis Complex or insecurity or pain that could make him see this. It had always been, like the sky was blue or Holly's hair was auburn.

He connects; the bones to the ashes, the ashes to the sorrow, and wonders if he will ever be done paying for his sins.

He watches.

**Charade**

Holly doesn't say anything, because she knows. Always, he would forever sit somewhere in the front of a theatre and watch the places where he made mistakes play. He would look for the ways to stop them, but he won't, because one can't travel to their past just to make every small thing correct.

**Inevitable**

Every human wishes they could see. A map of their life, a destination to their future, a straight path where there is no darkness or obstacles or mountains. Every human wishes they could protect everyone they love and care for, their family, their friends, their lover, with perfect vigilance and no mistakes, no losses. Every human wishes they could hold the world in the palm of their hand and run it, because surely they would do better than the next great politician or humanitarian or businessman.

But, take away one of these things, and one is no longer human, fairy, or of mortal limits.

Artemis and Holly couldn't see the cogs turn and the machinations work. They couldn't see the plans Opal had played out, nor the other half from the past who still had powers—fairy and superfairy. They couldn't see the destruction, the crying, the pain of the war that was coming to the Fowl Manor doorstep. December fifteenth, two-thousand and ten. The date was like cement in their minds, as it was the day they learned of the Black Party, and all that it stood for.

It had taken Artemis and Holly five years to build their world.

It would only take sixty-seven days to destroy it.

* * *

**A/N:** So, I just finished reading Atlantis Complex. Saddest AF book eveeeeeeerrrrr! TT_TT It was really cute, though. And all the ArtemisxHolly~~ And Orion is the shiz. XD

Some of you who alerted chapter one may have noticed that the summary changed. A plot bunny bit me, and it wouldn't go away. I don't want to have more than three major fanfiction projects at a time (which I really should be working on), thus this story will be that plot bunny. XD

I got Arty drunk for you all. I hope you all enjoyed it, as I know many of you were looking forward to it~

The car accident scene was inspired by an accident I got into this past October. It was a perfectly clear night, and what happened to Artemis and Holly pretty much happened to me. I went to change lanes, and lost control of the car, and ran into the highway divider. I'm lucky there was a break in traffic-it wasn't that busy out, even. ._.

I think the first car accident is scary for every young teenager, genius or not. Artemis is just a kid, really . . . and then you're always scared that your parents are gonna kill you, because it means your insurance will spike and you need to get a new car. Not fun. ""XD

I'm gonna start putting quotes at the top of each chapter, from songs most of the time. You might want to listen to each song the quote is from, before you read the chapter~ This one is about Artemis's desperation to hold onto Holly, especially towards the end. I also did that with the first chapter, go back and look, if you'd like. ^^

So, I'm new to the AF fandom. Thus, I am looking for two things.

**1. Roleplay partners.** I'm an RPing addict, and it's a lot of where my writing is inspired. It helps develop my muses and is a good testing ground for iffy ideas. I want a partner who can handle anything-you cannot be easily squicked out. XD What you see in my story is probably what's going to go in our RP. I prefer someone who can RP over IM, as it's faster and it flows better. I'm in Eastern US time-I've made a friend already to RP with, with but she's all the way in Japan, thus my nights are her days. XD

**2. AF beta.** I have several betas for Soul Eater, but barely any of them know AF well or care enough (some of them used to be in it and moved on) to beta an actual story. I want someone who knows the canon and the characters really well, and again, is not squicked out easily. XD Again, I would prefer IM communication.

I'm a really super-friendly person. Don't be afraid to drop me a PM if you're interested in either, I'll be happy to give you my contact information. I have Yahoo! Messenger (which also works with MSN), Gtalk, AIM, and Skype. ^^

Next chapter. THE ANGST TRAIN IS A-COMIN.' Things will get worse as we go. One of my favorite things to do with characters I've just met is see how far I can push them, and how much emotional capacity they really have. Yep.

That's pretty much it.

**_PLEASE REVIEW!_**


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